


Focus

by Caitybug



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Foreplay, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Pretending to Be Strangers, Smut, Surprise butt plug, Tender - Freeform, caity's first smut, graphic depictions of Simon being Thirsty for Baz, happy birthday seb!, soft, they love each other okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug
Summary: Simon, sitting alone in a bar, gets approached by someone with dark hair and a deep voice.He takes a deep breath. (They planned this, he knows what's happening.)Baz isn't a stranger.But tonight, he's pretending he is.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 20
Kudos: 124





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for [Seb!](http://tumblr.com/pipsqueakparker)
> 
> I hope you have an excellent birthday!! I'm sending you all the love in the world- you deserve it. 
> 
> Thank you to [Kris](http://tumblr.com/krisrix), [Liz](http://tumblr.com/foolofabookwyrm), and [Dem](http://tumblr.com/blog/otherworldsivelivedin) for beta reading this! I've so appreciated it.

I’m sitting at the bar, drink in hand, music pulsing around me when I’m approached. 

“Hello,” the deep voice whispers in my ear, “are you waiting for anyone?”

I smirk and turn to face him. (This was part of the plan.) (I convince myself to stay calm and play my part.)

He’s wearing deep navy trousers and a white button-up with sleeves rolled to his elbows. His jacket’s still draped over the back of the chair from the table he left. 

(He knows I like him like this. Relaxed. A little less put together.) (Even his hair is loose and wavy against his neck.)

“No, can’t say I am,” I reply, finally. I can’t help how long it takes me to respond. There’s just so much of _him_ to take in. 

He moves to the seat next to me, not taking his eyes off of mine. His hand is on my knee, and I don’t want him to take that off me either. (He doesn’t.)

He turns to the bartender and orders himself a drink. I look back at his suit jacket, curious. (Why’d he leave it there?) (Isn’t he worried about what might happen to it?)

I’m about to ask him if he wants to grab it but I have to stop myself.

This is a _game._

We’re trying it out. (Acting like we don’t know each other.)

“So,” he says, lips nearly touching the edge of his glass, “what’s your name?” 

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. But, I see an opportunity, and I take it.

“Simon,” I say smugly, as he takes a drink from his glass. I watch his Adam’s apple move with the swallow. “And yours?”

He sets the drink down, shifting slightly as he does so. I don’t miss the way his hand moves farther up my thigh. My body already feels on fire, knowing what we’re doing. (Knowing what we’re about to do.) His hand touching me feels like he’s opening a circuit. I feel like a live wire, ready to explode.

I barely hear his response. (I don’t need to- not really. I know his name.) (And his favorite colour. And the way he takes his coffee. How he looks when he wakes up... Even how, when I lick my lips just _right_ , his eyes will follow my tongue.) I test it now, briefly. (It works.) (Always does.)

“Baz,” I say, breathily. (God—how am I already so far gone?)

He leans forward, lips nearly grazing my ear. “Do pay attention, Simon. You’ll call me Basil tonight. Or there will be… consequences.”

My breath hitches at his words. “Basil,” I state—not knowing what else to say.

He whispers “good”, rubbing the inside of my thigh with his fingers, before removing them entirely. It wasn’t a heavy touch, but I miss it just the same. My thigh feels cold, completely abandoned by the presence of him. Baz stands up, walking back to his suit jacket, giving me a knowing look over his shoulder as we make eye contact again.

Follow.

What Baz doesn’t know is I’ll _always_ follow him. I did it for years, at school; followed him again into fights, and in our growing relationship.

I grab my drink, practically stumbling out of my stool after him. I don’t miss the break in whatever character Baz has cooked up for the night, as he watches me. (There’s a definite smile there. A note of him being utterly in love.) (And I smile back of course, because I’m the same.) 

Baz calls me stupid—or at least he _did_ , all throughout school—and he’s right. I am.

_I’m stupidly in love with him._

We sit at his table, and I let him order me a drink. (Two. I let him order me two drinks.) He talks and I listen, completely enamored. (Even while pretending, I can’t cover up how much I love him.) 

He touches my knee, my hand, taps my foot, brings a hand to my shoulder; there’s rarely a moment when I don’t find him touching some part of me. It brings sparks to my skin each time—practically making me glow. 

When he excuses himself to use the loo, I grab his arm to stop him.

“Baz—”

“Basil, Simon; do keep up,” he interrupts, raised eyebrow on display. He brings a hand to my face, and I forget what I was going to say. His eyes are drawing me in, and I feel like the tide rolling onto the beach as he continues. “Get our bill, please. My card is in the front pocket.” He places a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be only a moment.”

When he walks away I act quickly, fumbling for the card in his suit jacket, rushing to the bar to pay our tabs. (I try to ignore the cost, but it’s hard.) (I think momentarily about how many curries that could be, but push it to the side.)

When he returns, looking as smooth as ever, I stand up and face him, watching as he pulls on his suit jacket, getting ready to leave. (My heart skips when I think about it. Leaving. What’s going to happen _after_ we leave.)

We’ve done this before. (Well, not _this_ , but sex. We’ve had sex. Many times.) (Hence trying this out—spicing things up and playing around a bit.) 

He reaches out a hand to me and I grab it, feeling the sparks light up between our palms. 

This entire night he’s pointedly kept only one hand on me. It’s a small gesture, but it’s driven me impossibly mad with want. My brain flashes through images of him with both hands on my hips, holding me down and kissing me senseless... He’s talking. I can vaguely hear it as we walk to his car. (He drove here. I had Penelope drop me off after work.) (She does _not_ know what we were planning to do.)

“Simon,” he whispers in my ear again as we reach his car, “I need you to pay attention to me when I talk.”

“I’m paying attention—”

“Clearly not,” he says, pulling back, pushing a curl off my forehead. “I just spent the entire walk discussing my stance on scented laundry detergents and you never once interrupted me.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Who _cares_ about—”

“Exactly,” he leans down and I think he’s going to give me a kiss, so I close my eyes and lean into it... Ready. Waiting. Praying. But instead his lips hover millimetres from my own (possibly closer, but my brain’s so fuzzy I can’t think of a unit of measurement smaller than that). “Stay focused, or you might miss something important.”

He moves back and to the driver’s side of the car, leaving me dazed for a moment, eyes still closed, desperate for the feel of his lips against mine. 

I crack them open just in time to watch him open the car door and give me a glance. I feel desperate—wanting (needing) his lips on mine. He slides into the car effortlessly, letting the door close behind him. 

_Focus, Simon._

I shake my head, trying to get myself in check, and climb into the passenger seat.

We drive away, and all I am are thoughts of him. (His lips, his tongue, his hands.)

+++

The car ride is quick (thankfully), but Baz still finds ways to make it torturous. He has his hand resting on the gear shift, driving with the windows down, moonlight illuminating his skin. He clearly knows I’m watching him—taking in his every movement. Every muscle that tenses when he changes gears, every slide of his fingers and palm against the steering wheel. 

Merlin, Baz is so fucking _fit._

I know this, of course. I know this _all too well_ if we’re being honest.

But sometimes, especially now when he’s relaxed and comfortable, it really shines through. He’s got a lazy smile on his face, softly singing to the songs on the radio.

He’s gorgeous.

I lean over and whisper that into his ear, just to get him back for all the teasing he did earlier. He smiles at me, making one last turn on the way to our flat. 

Baz lets his attention leave me for a moment as he pulls into a spot, turning off the engine.

There’s a moment where the only sound is buzzing in my eardrums, silence filling the car now it’s off. The light from a nearby lamppost shines through, illuminating his eyes in a way that makes me lean closer.

_Closer._

I close my eyes, hoping.

After a night of soft touches, smirks, and light conversation, I need _something_. A feeling. A touch.

I hear him lean in closer, and then, _finally_ , I feel the release of his lips touching mine. My brain turns on—my body brought completely back to life. I reach up to run my hands through his hair, but he stops me.

“Not yet,” he mutters around deep breaths. I open my eyes, seeing my want reflected in his own. “Take off your belt.”

I frown. “What—”

“Your seat-belt, you moron,” he laughs. He clicks his own off, opening the door and leaving me alone for a brief moment. (Brief being the operative word.)

I’m out quickly and following him up the stairs. He doesn’t turn around, and I can’t tell if I want him to or not. (I need to see him.) (But if he turns around, there's no way we’ll make it back to the flat. We’ll be _that_ couple in the hallway, making a scene that will surely result in us being evicted.)

We get into our flat (fucking _finally_ ), and Baz wastes no time grabbing me by my belt loops, pulling my hips flush against him.

Feeling him, with both hands gripping either side of me, is like he’s completing the charge he’s been kick-starting in me all night. It flows from one hip to the other, connected to the feel of his hands.

“Ba—” I clear my throat. Remembering. “Basil?” He smiles wickedly, stepping backwards through the hallway, pulling me with him.

I can feel him, hard with want. His desire matches my own and I’m _desperate_ for it. 

He leans in, kissing me softly, pulling my belt loose, slipping it carefully, _painfully_ slowly through each loop. His fingers graze a bit of my stomach as he does so, tracing fire across my skin.

“Yes, Love,” he says in my ear, tossing the belt behind me. I’m so worked up that I forget for a minute that I even asked a question. 

I sigh with relief. If he’s calling me ‘Love’, then we’ve dropped the act. No longer strangers in the bar, now lovers in our home.

He twists us around, making me walk backwards. It feels infinitely less comfortable this way—I keep tripping over my feet, worried I’m going to crash into something. 

“Trust me,” he says, kissing me softly. I lean into it, letting him guide me to the room. Trusting him to make sure I don’t fall. 

(Trusting him to catch me if I do.)

He takes one, two, three steps forward, pushing me closer to our room. Through the door frame. Shoes get hastily removed. Lips graze jawlines and anything they can get ahold of—his on my jaw, mine find his ear—my hands grab his belt and I take it off as quickly as I can. (Much less gracefully than he managed mine.)

I fall back onto our mattress and he climbs above me, looking down at me with reverence. Like it’s _me_ who’s gorgeous. (It’s him. It’s always him.)

“Simon,” he whispers. “How—”

“Me and you,” I whisper in return, an answer to his almost asked question. (Is this a night when we grab _supplies_?)

Despite how we started it—strangers and acting like we’ve never known each other—I’m just so full of adoration for _him_. I want to feel _him_ , see _him_. I don’t want to let him go.

He nods once in understanding, and leans down, kissing me deeply. 

My brain lets itself turn off, letting only thoughts of Baz flood in. The way his lips feel against my too hot skin, calming me with every touch. How his hands feel, slipping my shirt over my head, torturously slow. His fingers graze my nipples on their journey upwards, making me gasp a sharp intake of breath. 

“Simon,” he says against my jaw, my arms trapped above my head by the shirt he’s yet to take all the way off. I want to finish the job, but it feels purposeful. Like a test. 

I’ve often failed tests in my life—but not this time. I intend to pass this one with flying colours.

“Hmm?” I mumble. He kisses down my neck, fingers at the edge of my trousers. My skin feels alight—like he’s a match continuously striking against me. I need relief, an entire ocean’s worth of water to be put out.

But he won’t do it. I know he won’t. He’s slow—purposeful. I can feel a smirk on his lips as he kisses across my collar bone, licks up my neck, pausing only at my Adam’s apple. 

He told me once that if he bit me anywhere, it’d be there. My head feels dizzy at the thought. That he might—

That he _would_.

He huffs a laugh, like he knows what I’m thinking. “Not tonight, Love.” 

I groan in frustration, but I know he’s right. Tonight I want to be present for everything, for every feeling and word written on these sheets. For the way he’s unbuttoning me, pulling my trousers down and tossing them to the floor. 

He kisses down my chest and I yearn, I’m _desperate_ for skin. For _him_.

“Baz,” I hiss as he lets his teeth graze my abdomen. (Just because he isn’t biting, doesn’t mean he isn’t letting his fangs be known.)

He pulls back immediately, stepping off the bed. The loss of contact feels stark, and I can’t help the feeling of emptiness that takes over me.

“I told you, _Snow_ ,” he says quietly, emphasizing the change from ‘Simon’. He’s said my name so much tonight that hearing ‘ _Snow_ ’ again feels like a major step backwards. “Basil, tonight.” 

I gulp. “Basil— _please_.” My hands are gripping the wood of our headboard, clutching to any sense of feeling. “I need—”

“You _need_ to make sure you stay focused, Simon. Remember what I’ve told you.” He sits down next to me, slipping off his trousers. “ _Focus_ ,” he says again as he holds himself above me. 

I close my eyes, letting myself focus on his touch again. His fingertips as they trail across my chest, my abdomen, the top of my pants. 

His thighs are on either side of my knees, strong and stable. I push my hips up, hoping. He thankfully pulls my pants down, shifting to better slip them past my ankles. I hear the faint sound of them falling to the floor. 

I open my eyes, needing to focus on _him_. Not just how he feels, but how he looks. His eyes, raking over me in desperation. The way his tongue swipes across his top lip when he looks at my cock. How his eyes meet mine and I know what he’s thinking. And I hope that when he sees my face, he knows I want it.

_I want him._

He bends down and I think, briefly, that he’s going straight for it—that the relief I’ve been seeking, _wanting_ , is close. But I feel lips on my thigh first, trailing up and up. So close. His breath is the only sensation I feel as he moves to the other side, bringing his arm under my knee and pulling it so it bends.

He kisses the underside of my knee, my thigh, grazes his teeth so close to me I could _scream_.

(I practically do.)

He—after sensing my desperation, I’m sure—gives in, and I finally feel his lips wrap around me, tongue curving on the underside of my cock. My hips buck upwards towards the sensation, and he’s so bloody brilliant that he doesn’t even react. (I’d have likely choked.) He grasps my hips and brings them upwards, taking me deeper. 

I can feel myself getting close. My eyes shut tight as I feel my pleasure trying to take over, but he pulls away. (It’s almost worth the pain of losing him around me to hear the way he pops off.) ( _Almost_.)

He kisses up my chest, my neck, my jaw. His tongue and his lips taste like me still. I deepen the kiss, letting myself revel in the fact that it’s _me_ he’s consumed with. Inside and out. 

“I’ll give you a choice,” he murmurs, letting me feel the words as they form against my lips. “I can continue to suck you off, let you finish deep in my throat...” I moan at the thought. “Shhh now,” he mutters, smirking against me. “You’ve yet to hear the other option.” 

I squeeze the wood behind me, trying to get a grip, when he backs away. I don’t open my eyes but I nearly whine when I realise what he’s doing.

A drawer opens and closes before I feel the familiar dip in the mattress—the feeling of him returning to his spot on top of me.

I open my eyes, searching his face for the suggestion that I _know_ (hope?) he’s going to give. He has something in his hand, something clearly familiar to both of us. 

“Or,” he opens the bottle, letting some of its contents slide onto his palm, “I could ride you.” He closes the lid, tossing the bottle to the end of the bed, moving, wrapping his hand around me. It’s slick, warm, and the friction makes my eyes roll to the back of my head. It’s so good that I forget he asked me a question until he pauses, waiting.

“Which would you prefer?” he asks, reminding me of the topic at hand.

I remove my arms from the shirt, desperate to touch him, not willing to play the game anymore. (Fuck it if I lose, if I fail this test. I still count this as a win.) (An _A-plus_ in my book.) I grab his arse and pull it closer. (It’s absolutely horrid that he’s still got his pants on.) (Not for long, however.) 

“Let me fuck you,” I say against his lips. “I want you to know nothing but my name on your lips and the feel of me inside you.” 

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

His breath catches before he shifts on the bed, slipping his pants down his legs, letting me get a full look of him. (He’s gorgeous. Always is, whether completely exposed, like now, or in a three-piece suit.) He crawls back over me, straddling my thighs, letting me feel his bare cock against my stomach. ( _Fuck_.)

I want to touch him, but I always want to be surrounded by him—to be _in_ him. I reach around, desperate for feeling him, but realize there’s something there already. He’s panting in my ear as I touch the base, currently resting on the outside of his arse. 

“Basil,” I whisper, grabbing the plug without moving it yet. “Has this been inside you all night?” He moans as I pull it a centimeter out. “How have you kept this a secret?”

He huffs, laughing. I stop him quickly by pulling it out a bit more. The laugh catches in his throat and I watch him slowly come undone.

Basilton Pitch, composed and suave, coming apart on top of me. It’s more than I could want. More than I could ever dream of.

I pause, letting him get his words out. “ _Some_ of us know how to keep composure.” 

I hum in response before slowly pulling the plug out the rest of the way. His moans as I do so fill the room so beautifully that I wish I could play them on repeat. “Sounds like _some_ of us aren’t as composed as we’d like to believe.”

“Fuck you, Snow.”

I lift myself up, holding him close to me as I reach for the lube. (Asking myself why he even threw it in the first place?) (I guess it _was_ hot.) “No, I think I’d quite like to fuck you instead, darling.” 

He pushes me back down, smirking and grabbing the lube from my hands, rubbing more onto my cock before holding himself above me.

It’s this moment that I could stay in forever. When Baz starts to lower himself onto me, eyes hooded and lips parted, completely desperate and wanting.

(I still can’t believe I didn’t notice the plug. He must be working on his tells.) (Usually I notice.)

(Not noticing, however, makes it impossibly _hotter_.)

He rolls his hips and I lose any coherent thought besides ‘ _fuck!_ ’, ‘ _more_!’, and ‘ _Baz!_ ’ I move my own hips in time with his, my hands gripping him for support. (Gripping on to dear life.) He leans forward, eyes closed, fangs dropped and on display. 

_Fuck_. I love him like this. Baz breaking at the seams on top of me. _Because_ of me. He opens his eyes to meet my own, pupils wide and eyes sparking with fire as we both get closer. 

I wrap my hand around his cock, letting it sit heavily in my hand for a moment, remembering the lines, the feel, the twitches it makes as I buck into him. As I say his name. (As he says mine.) 

“ _Please_ ,” he whines, finally. (Seems I’m not the only one begging for touch tonight.) I twist my wrist, letting my hand give him the friction he’s desperate for, moving in time with our hips.

“Ba—” I choke, not able to get out the entire word. He nods his head, knowing. (He’s close, I can tell.) He’s clenching around me, muttering my name ( _Simon_ ) until he finally releases.

I stroke him through it, his hips still rolling against me as I quickly follow him. His head on my shoulder, murmuring words of love and adoration.

_I love you._

_You’re beautiful._

_I love you._

We’re left panting, blissed out and repeating those phrases against each other’s lips, willing them into a spell. Turning our room into a shelter; a foundation made of trust, walls built of words of love and truth. Warmth flowing from our chests into each other.

Allowing what we feel to spread from our room, to the sofa, to every nook and cranny of the kitchen. 

A spell that gives us safety. That allows us to be vulnerable in ways we never felt possible.

I grab my pants, haphazardly thrown to the floor, to clean us up and pull Baz closer to me. Usually he’d insist we get up and wash off, but tonight’s not that night. Tonight we stay in bed and fall asleep, wrapped in blankets made of reverence and on pillows stuffed with comfort.

I love him.

I love him when he moans my name. When he smirks. When he’s wrapped around me (like now), completely loose and comfortable. 

I focus on his breathing, listening to him fall asleep. 

I kiss the top of his forehead and repeat those three words:

_I love you._

I close my eyes and fall asleep too; dreaming of nothing, thinking of only the pressure of his body against mine. And the knowledge that nothing could ever ruin this feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Check me out on [Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/caitybuglove23)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] 'Focus' mini-comic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068659) by [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix)




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